


After the Great Game

by ButterscotchCandybatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Asexual Sherlock, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterscotchCandybatch/pseuds/ButterscotchCandybatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the episode The Great Game concludes, Sherlock and John recover together from their brush with death. Johnlock with asexual Sherlock. And then Greg Lestrade joins in...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As soon as Jim Moriarty left the pool area, Sherlock Holmes threw an arm around the shoulders of John Watson and hurried him into a cab and back to their flat. John’s coat full of explosives had to be left behind, so by the time they reached their own door John was shivering and his hands were stiff and blue.

Sherlock took John upstairs to his bedroom and was about to leave him to undress and go back to the kitchen to make some hot tea, when he realized that John’s hands were so numb that he could not manage the buttons. He was clawing at them with fingers too stiff actually work them properly. Cursing himself for not realizing sooner that he could have given John his own coat, or at least the scarf, Sherlock said briskly, “Here, let me help you.”

“Damnit, I don’t need help!” John retorted.

“Yes, you do.” Sherlock ignore John’s protests and started efficiently unbuttoning his shirt and fetching his pyjamas, before bending down to remove John’s shoes and socks.

“That’s enough, go downstairs and make some tea!” John protested, when he realized that Sherlock was about to start unzipping his trousers.

“Very well,” said Sherlock, “as long as you get into bed and start getting warm.”

“I will, I will, just go downstairs.”

Sherlock went down into the kitchen and put the kettle on and set about the calming ritual of making tea. It took him about twice as long as it would have taken John, but he got there eventually. He took two mugs of tea up to John’s bedroom, and was pleased to see that John was already sitting in the bed. He handed over the first cup and settled down on the edge of the bed with his own.

John did not appear calmed by the tea-sipping as he usually was. In fact he was gulping it down so fast he was probably scalding his mouth. When the mug was empty he handed it back to Sherlock with a terse, “Thanks for the tea, but it’s late and I need to get some sleep before work tomorrow.”

Sherlock noted that this behaviour was unusual for John. He was almost agitated, despite the late hour and the tea. Could he be trying to get rid of Sherlock? And if so, why?

Sherlock watched John trying to slide down in his bed, and realized from the awkwardness and bulk of the movement that he was still wearing his trousers! Obviously he had not been able to manage the zip without Sherlock’s help and was now trying unobtrusively to get rid of Sherlock before he noticed. Except that nothing was unobtrusive with Sherlock.

“John, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t sleep in trousers. Let me help you.” Sherlock threw back the covers and despite John’s flailing hands managed to unbutton and unzip John’s trousers. He had them half off when he realized what John had been hoping would escape notice. John had an erection.

“Perfectly normal physical reaction to fear of dying, to want to affirm life.” John mumbled, blushing. “Happened a lot in Afghanistan after a narrow escape.”

“And what did you do about it in Afghanistan, when there wasn’t a woman around for miles?”

“Ah well, brothers in arms, you know… That kind of thing.” John petered out, blushing again. Sherlock looked carefully at John; eyes wide open, dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, increased rate of breathing. John was clearly aroused and needed Sherlock to do something about it, though he would never ask in so many words.

“Very well,” replied Sherlock, and promptly ran downstairs to his own room. He threw off his own clothes and put on his pyjamas and brushed his teeth, turned out the kitchen light and ran back up to John’s bedroom.

John had managed to finish kicking off his trousers and was lying on his side facing the wall. He started violently when Sherlock lifted the covers and slid in behind him.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“No, you told me you need a brother in arms to help you, so I went to get myself ready for bed, and now I’m ready to help you with your needs. Let me touch you.” Sherlock reached around from behind John and slid his left arm under John’s neck and his right arm around John’s waist, sliding his hand down to grasp John’s erection firmly and give it a few strokes of the shaft.

“I thought… oh, that’s good… I thought you were asexual, married to your work and all that?”

Sherlock chuckled warmly, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit on the side occasionally. Being asexual myself doesn’t mean not recognizing sexual needs in those I care about.” He drifted his left hand down to gently rub at John’s nipples, while his right continued the firm strokes of John’s cock in time to the now helpless thrusting of his hips. “That’s it, enjoy being alive and feeling everything it means to be alive. You faced death, even offered to die for me, but now here we are alive and together and doesn’t that feel good?”

A few more thrusts into Sherlock’s hand and John was coming in quick, rapid pulses of warm stickiness into his hand, groaning with release. Sherlock wiped off most of the mess on a convenient bit of sheet, then helped John wriggle back away from the wet patch. He could feel John relaxing into his arms, sleepy and warm as they spooned. This was Sherlock’s favourite part of a relationship, the warm comfort of simply being together.

Then John seemed to force himself awake for a moment, “But what about you?” he murmured. “Do you need… anything?” He pushed his hips back into Sherlock’s lap, as if seeking to rub against an erection that wasn’t there.

“No, I’m fine John, it’s all fine. Just go to sleep.”

“Mmm, ‘kay.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Over the next few weeks, John and Sherlock settled into a new routine. John would get up and make breakfast for both of them, they would eat (or at least John would) and then John would go to work and Sherlock would stay in the flat and think. In the evenings John would drink tea and watch crap telly until he was ready to go to bed, when Sherlock would follow him upstairs to his bedroom, bring him off with a quick hand job and cuddle against his back until they both fell asleep.

This arrangement seemed eminently satisfactory to Sherlock. John’s needs were taken care of so John was happy, and Sherlock was able to enjoy warmth and closeness without the pressure of any expectations of sexual performance. Ideal.

Except that one night after a particularly efficient bringing off of John in under three minutes, instead of settling in for a nice snuggle John flopped over on his back and sighed.

“Is something the matter?” asked Sherlock. “Are you not ready for sleep yet?”

“Well, yes… not really… I don’t know.” John prevaricated.

“Does it bother you that I don’t have a reciprocal sexual need for you?” Sherlock suggested. Many previous partners, and nearly all of the women, had at some point commented that his lack of sexual interest made them feel unattractive. Such feelings often signalled the end of the relationship, because this was an expectation which Sherlock was unable to fulfil and was uninterested in dissembling over.

“No, that’s not it exactly…” John hesitated. Sherlock levered himself up on his elbow to lean over and look directly into John’s face. John had a little crease between his eyebrows, but he was looking up clearly into Sherlock’s face. So he knew what he wanted, but just wasn’t sure how to say it.

“Are you unsatisfied with our current arrangement? I thought I had worked out your favourite sequence, but do you wish me to change any elements of the routine?” Sherlock was genuinely surprised when John puffed out a startled laugh.

“Routine? Is that how you think of it?”

“Well, now that I have found the pattern of your favourite moves I can combine them in a different order, if you prefer?” Sherlock frowned. “I want to please you, to pleasure you and make you warm and relaxed. That is when you are most likely to want to cuddle. If you advise me of how to adjust the program, then we can both continue to have our needs met. Is that agreeable to you?”

John sighed. “Did it ever occur to you that there might be more to this than, well…” he trailed off.

“Than what?” Sherlock frowned. “You always come, so I assumed that I was meeting your needs. Is there another need? You’ll have to tell me. I don’t experience these needs.”

John flung an arm over his face. “Oh God, how do I explain this? All right, think about solving mysteries. Is it more satisfying to get a simple answer in under three minutes, or to tease out a complicated problem and only get there after a long series of deductions?”

Sherlock was baffled. “Are you saying you want your orgasms to be more complicated?”

“Argh!” John was blushing furiously. “Look, why don’t you just try it and experiment. Pretend you don’t know what I like at all. Try something different, try taking your time and exploring my reactions a bit.”

“All right.” Sherlock curled up against John’s back. “I’ll look into it for tomorrow night, if that would be acceptable to you?”

“Fine. Let’s go to sleep.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

The next night Sherlock seemed different somehow. As they ate dinner Sherlock kept putting little extra bits on John’s plate. Sherlock never ate much himself, but usually he didn’t care what John ate either. Now he was exclaiming over finding a mushroom in their chow mien and proudly giving it to John. The whole performance reminded John of a cat presenting its owner with a dead mouse.

After dinner Sherlock made them both tea. It was a funny grey colour and John had no idea how Sherlock had managed to produce that effect with perfectly normal tea bags, but he refrained from comment. He just had to see where all this was leading, and why Sherlock felt it was necessary.

John flopped down in front of the telly, and Sherlock sat beside him on the couch, somewhat closer than he normally would. Then Sherlock tried to lean down and put his head on John’s shoulder, except that being much taller than John it didn’t really work. Sherlock cricked his neck far enough to rest on the top of John’s shoulder, but then toppled over completely as John leapt up off the couch.

“Sherlock! What is the matter with you?” John demanded.

Sherlock looked crestfallen. “I did some research. I found many websites with the search terms **pleasing your man** and I thought I would try some out.” He huffed angrily. “You asked me to try something new, so I am. You could at least show some appreciation!”

John sat down again and gathered Sherlock into his arms. “Oh love, I didn’t mean that you needed to change everything. I just wanted a little… well… variety in the bedroom. I don’t want you to become a 50’s wife or whatever else it is that you’ve been reading that men want.”

Sherlock sighed. “It has been rather difficult to decide which websites were correct about what men want, since all were obviously written by women in the first place. However, they did have some intriguing suggestions for the bedroom. Would you like to try them out?”

John’s interest was piqued. “I suppose so,” he said, “as long as they don’t involve lingerie.”

“Well, I decided to give that section a miss for now,” said Sherlock, “but there were several other variations which I would like to try out, if you are agreeable?”

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

John lay down in the middle of the bed, naked and without any blankets, as instructed. He was a little cold, but curious enough to play along with Sherlock’s new experiment. Sherlock was in his pyjamas as he lay down beside John without touching him.

“Now, I want you to place your hands above your head, hands folded together against the headboard of the bed,” Sherlock instructed. John did so. “And close your eyes.” John bit his lip nervously.

“I’m not going to blindfold or bind you, this isn’t some BDSM scene,” Sherlock reassured him. “I just want you to focus on your body’s sensations without vision to distract you.”

John allowed his eyelids to flutter shut. Sherlock started by lightly tracing his fingers down John’s chest. He tugged gently on some of the lightly scattered blonde chest hairs and scratched teasingly at John’s nipples before tickling his way down John’s ribs and belly towards his rapidly rising cock. He gave the interested erection a few light strokes on his way past, but then shifted to John’s knees, tickling and circling around until John squeaked a protest. Then, settling himself comfortably between John’s knees he stroked up the insides of John’s thighs, excruciatingly slowly, moving first his left hand a few centimetres then his right, until finally he arrived back at John’s weeping erection.

Sherlock noted with interest that despite minimal touch, John was harder than he had ever seen him. The head of his cock was swollen and the foreskin completely retracted. Sherlock could not recall having seen this happen spontaneously before, and decided that perhaps there was something in this “foreplay” idea after all.

He grasped the shaft firmly in his right hand, ignoring John’s groan of relief, and experimentally swiped his tongue roughly across the whole head. He felt the leap under his hand and tongue as a shock of pleasure jolted through John’s whole body. Interesting.

He tried again, this time circling his tongue all the way around the head of John’s cock, carefully keeping the rough side in contact. He rubbed the tip of his tongue firmly against the underside of the glans and felt as well as heard John’s heartfelt groan of pleasure. This was more gratifying than he had expected. John didn’t taste bad either. He had been a little concerned about the taste, well, he didn’t really know what he had expected but John was warm and smooth in his mouth and the only taste was a sort of muskiness which was not unpleasant.

He ran his tongue over the tip of John’s erection a few more times, then decided it was time to experiment further. He took the head of John’s cock into his mouth and sucked on it lightly. The whole thing didn’t fit into his mouth, so he used his hand to stroke the rest of the shaft in time with the movement of his lips. John didn’t object, in fact John seemed to be enjoying the whole experiment immensely. He was lying still and letting Sherlock do whatever he wanted without offering any directions or corrections. Sherlock liked the feeling of being in control.

After moving his hand and lips up and down the shaft for a while, Sherlock noticed a new taste. John’s cock was leaking a kind of salty liquid. Sherlock pulled back for a moment to have a closer look. The fluid was clear, not the milky look of ejaculate. This must be the “pre-come” that he had read about. This meant that all was going according to plan, and in a few minutes he would have to decide if he was going to swallow the real thing.

He thought there would be time for on one last experiment for the evening and opening his mouth and throat as wide as possible, swallowed down as much of John’s straining erection as he could manage. He squeezed the remaining shaft with his right hand and reached around with his left to press the sensitive patch of skin behind John’s balls. He could almost imagine he was pressing on John’s prostate. Whatever it was he did, John unquestionably liked it. He was groaning and thrusting his hips into Sherlock’s mouth in small, desperate motions as if he was trying to hold back but unable to keep completely still.

Sherlock kept his hand and mouth where they were, and let John thrust a bit harder, setting his own pace. His jaw was starting to ache a bit from keeping his mouth open wide for so long, but he tried not to think about that. He concentrated instead on applying his tongue again to the sensitive tip and underside of John’s cock. That did it, and John was groaning and shuddering under his hands and suddenly his mouth and throat were full of quick pulses of warm salty fluid, almost more than he was able to swallow. He thought for a minute he was going to choke, but he swallowed again and the sensation disappeared.

He sat up and looked at John who was lying bonelessly sprawled across the bed, panting and sweaty, still with his eyes closed. Sherlock put a hand on John’s chest and could feel his heart pounding away, and all because of him; what he had done and how he had made John feel. On impulse, he leaned forward and pressed his ear to John’s chest. Now he could hear and feel John’s deep breathing and rapid heartbeat. He wrapped his arms around John’s waist and they lay together for several minutes as they both slowly recovered from the intensity of the experience.

“So, what did you think of the experiment?” Sherlock finally ventured.

John chuckled low in his chest, and Sherlock could feel his voice rumbling under his cheek. “I think if you do that very often I will have a heart attack – I’m not seventeen any more!”

Sherlock sat up and pretended to pout. “But this is just the beginning! I have lots more experiments to do yet – there were so many websites and I have lots more bookmarked for future experimental protocols.”

“Oh, all right.” John sighed. “If you really want to, we can have another go at it.”

“Tonight?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

“No, not tonight. Tomorrow.” John yawned.

“Early?” Sherlock persisted. “I have something in particular in mind.”

“Not any earlier than 0600 hours, that’s my final offer.”

“Agreed.” Sherlock made a mental note to wake up at 0530 and make some preparations. There was a whole world of new experiments ahead, and just as soon as John was rested enough to participate again he had some lovely new toys he wanted to try out…


	2. Chapter 2

John dragged himself up the staircase of 221B towards the kitchen, and a hot cup of tea. It had been a long day at the surgery, full of patients wanting miracle cures and he was no Sherlock bloody Holmes to pull miracles out of nowhere. He was tired and discouraged. Tea. Tea would make it all better.

He opened the door of the living room and saw Sherlock lying on the couch in his classic “thinking” pose, with hands steepled under his chin. There must be a case going on.

“I said, could you pass me my phone?” Sherlock said.

“Didn’t notice I’d gone out then?” John retorted. “I’ve been at work all day to pay **our** rent, and if you weren’t that laziest person ever to wear out couch leather you could have got up and got it yourself.”

He stomped into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Unreasonable expectation really, that Sherlock would do anything useful or consider anyone else’s needs. When a case was on, Sherlock had no thoughts for anything else. John mentally kissed goodbye to any hopes of convincing Sherlock to try any interesting “experiments” on him tonight. They had been fooling around for a while now, but never when a case was on. The Work took precedence over everything else and John and his desires would have to sit on the sidelines until it was over and Sherlock had time on his hands again. It left a rather bitter aftertaste to know that Sherlock was married to his work and that John was just the “bit on the side”, but that was the price of living with a genius. John supposed it wasn’t so bad, and certainly better than the no Sherlock he would have otherwise. It was just… well… it would have been nice if Sherlock would ever notice when **John** needed a hug. As it was, they cuddled when Sherlock wanted to and if Sherlock didn’t want to, then they didn’t. It wasn’t a very balanced relationship. John snorted at the direction of his own thoughts. Since when had “Sherlock” and “balanced” ever shared a sentence?

He took his tea into the living room and flopped down on the couch with a sigh. Oh wait, where was Sherlock? Hadn’t he been lying on the couch a moment ago? John sighed again and flipped on the telly. It was too late for the news but if Sherlock had gone out John could watch whatever he liked without enduring sarcastic commentary in the background.

Just then Sherlock reappeared from his room with his violin. He switched off the telly on his way past and went to stand in front of the window to play.

“Oi! Do you mind? I was watching that!” John exclaimed.

“I can’t think with that racket. I need to think.” Sherlock said flatly.

John stood up. “That is quite enough. You don’t care about what anyone else wants. You are selfish, inconsiderate and I’ve had it. Consider this two weeks’ notice to find another flat mate.” He could feel the tears pressing behind his eyes and turned hurriedly towards his room before Sherlock could see.

He was startled by the sound of the violin crashing to the floor. Against his better judgement he turned to look. Sure enough, Sherlock’s precious violin was lying smashed across the corner of the coffee table, and Sherlock himself was hastening awkwardly around the edge of the couch to gather John into his arms.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I didn’t think about what you needed.” He tried to embrace John, who was still standing stiffly in front of the couch. “Please, sit down with me?” He sat down himself and tugged at John’s hand. John sighed. He was too tired for drama. He sat.

“It’s just that when The Game is on I don’t think about anything else. I would, I **will** , consider your needs.” He dropped his earnest gaze from John’s face. “But you’ll have to tell me what you need. You know that when I’m caught up in a case I can’t think of anything else. I will make room for you. I want to, I swear I do. But it isn’t reasonable of you to expect me to know without being told.” Sherlock twisted his long fingers in his lap anxiously. “You know that people skills are not my strong suit. You tell me what you want and I will do my best to fit it in. I can’t promise more than that.” There was a pause before he added quietly, “I hope that is enough. If it isn’t you had better leave now because that’s the best I can offer.”

John leaned his head onto Sherlock’s shoulder. “God, you’re a bloody narcissistic sociopath, not always as high functioning as you claim, and I don’t know why I love you.”

Sherlock shook his head quietly in wonder. “Neither do I.” They were both silent for a minute. Then Sherlock said tentatively, “Should we have make-up sex now?”

John snorted tea through his nose at the unexpected conclusion. “What? Is this something else that you’ve read about and want to experiment with?”

Sherlock shrugged and blushed a little. “I came across the concept a while ago and most of the websites agree that make-up sex can be hot. I felt sure the opportunity would arise at some point, as most people get annoyed with me sooner or later.”

John wondered a bit about that last statement, but decided to reserve it for future thought. If Sherlock was offering hot make-up sex, John was not about to discourage him. “OK then, so what did your websites suggest?”

Sherlock looked around the room for a moment, then shoving the coffee table out of the way he created a clear spot on the rug right in front of the fireplace. “How about I suck you off right here in front of the fire? Does that sound hot to you?”

“Oh God, yes. Yes it does.” John was half hard just at the thought. He took a last gulp of tea to fortify himself then sat on the floor in the indicated place. It was warm on the floor just there, too warm with the heat from the fire being trapped in the small space between the fireplace and the coffee table. He pulled his jumper off over his head and tossed it on the table. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on the rug.

He sat up again almost immediately. “Nope, this is still going to be too hot.” He wriggled out of the rest of his clothes and lay back on the rug completely naked. “That’s more like it. All right, off you go.”

Sherlock sat on the floor between John’s knees. He had taken off his jacket and shoes but was otherwise still fully dressed. He smirked slightly. “You mean off **you** go.” He leaned down and kissed the crown of John’s erection, wrapping his hand around the shaft and stroking gently up and down. “But I think we should take it slowly, don’t you? Lots of teasing and not letting you come until you’ve begged me twice for it?” he murmured. “How does that sound?”

John groaned and it was his lovely I-want-it-so-much-I-can’t-even-speak groan. Sherlock applied his tongue again to the tip of John’s straining erection, enjoying the panting and catches in John’s breathing. He kept his mouth and right hand steadily working John’s cock, but allowed his left hand to roam around John’s body randomly pinching, scratching and unexpectedly rubbing wherever he knew John liked. John’s nipples were hard little nubs under his sensitive fingers, and he tweaked them just to feel the response thrill through John’s whole body.

With his left hand he reached as far back as he could without turning, and started by tickling John’s ankle. Then he trailed his hand ever so slowly up the inside of John’s leg, lingering to scratch and tickle a little behind the knee, then inching excruciatingly slowly up the inside of John’s thigh. By the time he was ready to join his left hand to his right on John’s cock, John was frankly panting and squirming with need, trying to thrust up into Sherlock’s hands and mouth to increase the stimulation.

Sherlock cupped his left hand around John’s balls, squeezing gently while stroking John’s cock with his right hand. Then he firmly and deliberately tongue-fucked the slit. John’s hips bucked uncontrollably and his moans leapt up in pitch and volume as the sweat started out from his forehead. He was close, very close. Sherlock kept up the rhythm and pressure, steadily winding John tighter and tighter. He could feel John’s balls drawing up close to his body, getting ready to spill their seed. He gave two more swipes with his tongue; one, two, and then stopped and sat back on his heels.

John groaned and thrashed around on the floor for a moment, then lay back panting. Sherlock had timed it perfectly, driving John right up to the edge but not letting him go over. “Oh God, Sherlock, touch me, please.”

“That’s once.”

“What? You don’t mean you’re going to do all that again?” John gasped. “Let me get off soon or I really will leave you, you smug bastard.”

“Now, now,” Sherlock soothed. “It will be worth it, you know it will. Just calm down a minute and I promise you will enjoy the second half. I want to try something new and it will work better if you are eager.”

Leaving John grumbling to himself for a moment, Sherlock darted into his room for the things he had bought and stored away for a suitable moment. He resumed his seat on the floor between John’s knees putting something behind his back where John couldn’t see. “Right, now, where were we? Oh yes, begging for more. By all means…”

John was still so excited it didn’t take much to turn his half-erection into an eager, weeping hard-on. Sherlock tried reversing his usual technique and holding his mouth still, used his hand to rub the glans of John’s penis back and forth across the rough side of his tongue. John gasped and jerked his hips up, trying to thrust deeper into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock made a mental note to repeat that move in future but for now he had other objectives in mind.

Keeping up steady pressure on John’s cock with his mouth, Sherlock reached around without looking and picked up the bottle of lubricant, keeping it carefully out of John’s sight. He applied the lubricant to the dildo he had bought making it as wet as possible. He held it in his hands to warm it, but decided not to switch on the vibration function just yet.

“John?” he whispered.

“Uh-huh?” John had his eyes closed and was thrusting into Sherlock’s hand.

“John. I want to ask you something.”

John slowly opened his eyes, which were hazy with lust, and forced himself to focus. “What Sherlock? Do you want me to beg you again?”

“Yes, in a way. I want to know if you would be open to the idea of penetrative intercourse with me.”

John’s eyes opened wide with sudden shock, and he half-sat up to look at Sherlock more closely. “Er, yes, but… I didn’t think you…” Involuntarily John’s eyes dropped to Sherlock’s undisturbed trousers which were definitely not hiding an erection. “I didn’t think you would want me to…” John blushed, but his cock twitched with interest.

Before he could get any mistaken ideas about what Sherlock was offering, he said tentatively, “I bought a dildo, just a small one, and I thought maybe I could try penetrating you with it. If you think you would like that.”

“Oh.” John looked less than thrilled at the idea. “I don’t know, I’ve never…”

“I’ve read all about it,” Sherlock reassured him. “I think I can make it good for you. We can stop at any stage if you don’t like it.”

“Well, OK.” John lay back down, but there was some tension in his thighs that hadn’t been there before. Sherlock kissed and stroked until he felt John relax again under his hands. He took the dildo and carefully positioned it at the entrance to John’s body. Timing his gentle pushes to match the strokes of his other hand on John’s cock, Sherlock slowly pushed into John’s body watching his face closely for signs of discomfort. John’s eyes were closed and he was frowning as if braced for pain but he did not protest or ask Sherlock to stop.

When the dildo was about half-way in Sherlock felt some resistance. Reluctant to push too hard, he asked John, “Are you OK? Do you like this?”

“Mmmm.” John didn’t open his eyes. “It’s an unusual feeling. Try angling a bit more ventral.”

“A bit what?” Sherlock was confused. This was a new word he had not seen on any website.

“Ventral. It means up towards my belly as opposed to down towards my back.”

Ah, a medical word then, not a sex word. Handy to have a doctor as a sexual partner, able to describe very precisely what he wanted. Sherlock appreciated precision.

He changed the angle of the dildo as requested and it suddenly slid in to the hilt and John gasped. “Oh God, yes, like that! Do that again.”

Sherlock withdrew and thrust in again, matching his movements with his other hand on John’s cock, and was pleased to hear John’s groans leap up in pitch and volume. “Oh God… I’ve never felt like this… You’re incredible…” John started lifting his hips to increase the pressure, and Sherlock followed the pace he was setting as his excitement gathered momentum.

Sherlock wanted to lean down and take John’s straining erection in his mouth, but that would mean taking his eyes off what he was doing with the dildo. It was a nice idea, but he did not feel confident enough with his technique to try that just yet. More practice was required. Lots more.

The steady movements seemed to be enough to bring John off quite soon though. Sherlock could see his balls drawing up tight to his body, and the gathering tension in his thighs which meant that his climax was not far off.

Just then they both heard the unmistakeable sound of footsteps on the stairs. John’s eyes flew open in horror. “Sherlock! Please tell me you locked the door when you came back with the dildo and lube?”

Sherlock shook his head, “No, we never lock that door.”

“Oh my GOD, you mean you intended to fuck me right here in the floor with a dildo and you didn’t bother to lock the door?”

“Was that not good? Mrs Hudson knows what we get up to, it won’t be a surprise for her.”

“There is a big difference between knowing and actually catching us in the act!”

“I don’t see why you think so.”

Just then there was a brief knock and the door opened. Detective Inspector Lestrade walked into the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade knocked on the door of 221B Baker Street. It was late, nearly ten o’clock at night, but the case was stumping him and he needed Sherlock’s eyes and brain. _The rest of him isn’t half bad either. So beautiful. So unattainable._

Lestrade knew from long experience with Sherlock that he was asexual, though John’s arrival in Sherlock’s flat seemed to have thrown some doubt on the issue. But John always said very loudly and repeatedly that he wasn’t gay and they weren’t a couple. Lestrade still hadn’t figured out if this was the truth or John “protesting too much”. Either way, he still couldn’t help torturing himself with vain thoughts of what he so desperately wished could one day be. So he had packed up all the photos of the crime scene and brought them with him. Sherlock didn’t sleep much so he would probably be awake and wanting more data anyway.

Mrs Hudson opened the door. “Detective! What an unexpected surprise!” She dropped her voice. “I’m so glad to see you. I heard yelling from the flat earlier and I think the boys are having a bit of a row. I thought I heard something breaking, then it all went very quiet. I do hope nothing bad has happened.” She was wringing her hands with distress.

“Never fear, Mrs Hudson. Whatever it is probably just needs a calm third person to sort it all out. Sherlock can get pretty annoying, I’m surprised John hasn’t found a reason to punch him prior to this.”

Lestrade climbed the internal stairs to the living room and tapped on the door. To his surprise it swung open easily under his hand. At first he thought the room was empty, except for the violin which appeared to have been smashed across the corner of the coffee table. Oh dear, John must have been **very** upset to break Sherlock’s violin! Trouble in paradise? Could that possibly create an opening…?

Then he saw Sherlock’s head and shoulders. For some reason he appeared to be sitting on the floor in front of the fire. The coffee table blocked the rest of him from view, though Lestrade also noted John’s jumper thrown down on the table itself so John must be around here somewhere, damn the luck.

“Please excuse me Lestrade, I’m afraid I can’t get up at the moment,” said Sherlock very civilly. “Did you get some more information relevant to my case?”

“ **Your** case?” retorted Lestrade. “Well, not really. I brought around all the pictures of the crime scene though. I thought it would help you to see them.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If there is no new evidence then what do you expect me to do for you?” He gestured irritably for Lestrade to come closer and put the photos on the coffee table where he could see them without getting up. The fingers of his right hand glistened oddly in the firelight. Was his hand wet? And what was he doing with his left hand anyway? He was making little stroking motions, as if he was rubbing his left hand up and down on the rug.

Lestrade leaned over the coffee table to see what Sherlock was doing and was struck totally and completely dumb. Oh. My. Fucking. God.

John Watson was lying naked on the rug with his arm thrown over his bright red face, and Sherlock bloody Holmes was calmly buggering him with a dildo while talking to Lestrade! John’s cock was bright red and angry-looking, so clearly they had been at it for a while. And it was wet. Oh God, was that John’s semen on Sherlock’s fingers that he was casually holding out for the photos?

Sherlock seemed annoyed. He was obviously repeating something he had just said that Lestrade had missed in his open-mouthed shock. “I said, what do you expect me to do for you?”

For one brilliant, crazed, incredible moment Lestrade thought Sherlock was offering to give him the same treatment that John was so obviously enjoying. Then with a disappointment that threatened to tear his guts out, he realized that Sherlock was referring to the case. The bloody case. As if anyone could care about a case when such a glorious, sexy, titillating tableau was being so wantonly displayed in front of him.

“I… um…” he coughed self-consciously. “As well as the photos I have the interview transcript from one of the witnesses and I thought you should see it. But if this isn’t a good time…”

Sherlock brightened up immediately. “Not at all! This is excellent! I’ve been waiting for that. Nothing like an eyewitness account. Sit down and tell me all about it.”

Lestrade’s eyes widened and John gave an audible groan from the floor. It wasn’t clear if the groan was one of pleasure or of supreme embarrassment.

“Now, now, John. Don’t be silly. You know I can multitask very well. You won’t be neglected while I attend to Detective Lestrade.”

 _Attend to? Oh God, if only…_ Lestrade was uncomfortably sure his thoughts were far too evident to the master of deduction. He sat down suddenly and spread the file over his lap and pretended to look through the photos and papers.

Sherlock dropped his voice to a low and intimate rumble. “Lestrade, I have recently discovered how to recognize and satisfy sexual needs. If you have a need that I can meet, we can do that too while we talk about the case. John here can budge over a bit and if you lie down next to him I think I can reach both of you at the same time.” Sherlock said this like it was the most normal suggestion in the world, and not in the slightest bit like some insane fantasy come true.

“Er, but what about John?” Lestrade was dying to throw himself down on the floor and ask Sherlock to touch him, but he knew that John and Sherlock had been in a relationship first and after his wife cheating on him he knew he would never inflict that on anyone else.

“John thinks you’re cute. Don’t you John?” Sherlock replied calmly.

John finally removed the arm from in front of his face in order to glare at Sherlock. “How the hell did you know that? Oh, never mind. You probably deduced it from what I ate the day after we first met or some such thing.”

“Not at all,” said Sherlock. “And are you trying to deny the fact that you have always thought Lestrade was cute, and closer in age to yourself than I am? That you would welcome him into a three-way relationship, and welcome his help with keeping me in line?”

John’s mouth dropped open, and Lestrade was sure he looked equally gobsmacked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at both of them. “You are both so obvious, don’t look so surprised! John, tell Lestrade to take his trousers off and lie down and start talking about my case!”

John’s eyes met Lestrade’s and for a moment there was a mutual cameraderie between them. Sherlock was a handful and it would take the two of them together to keep him from being bored. John shrugged and said, “You heard the man. You better do what he says or he’ll stop having sex with both of us in order to run after the eyewitness!”

Lestrade snorted, and started removing his trousers. John wriggled a little closer to the fire and Sherlock shoved the coffee table a bit further away, creating just enough space for Lestrade to lie down. It was warm here in front of the fire – or was that embarrassment heating his cheeks? His life had contained mostly vanilla sex up to now, apart from a few experimental encounters at his boys’ school which he didn’t really really “count” as part of his sexual history.

But then Sherlock reached out with his already wet right hand and started rubbing little circles on Lestrade's pants, and he could feel his erection swelling up instantly. Unbelievable, those long delicate fingers. Violinist's fingers, and they were just as clever as he had always imagined they would be. A groan issued from his throat without his consent, and he found himself flat on his back as his arms suddenly gave way.

"Now, tell me about the witness interview," said Sherlock, not stopping the wonderful things he was doing with his hands.

"Um, well, she remembers… oh God, that's nice… she saw… uh," Lestrade was having trouble concentrating. Well, not exactly, he was just having trouble concentrating on the case. His concentration on the sensations Sherlock was creating in his body was complete.

"She said he was wearing… umm… jeans…" Lestrade and John were panting together as Sherlock worked them simultaneously. John suddenly rolled over and threw one arm and leg over Greg and started nuzzling along the side of his neck. This did not help his concentration at all.

"John! I need to hear about the eyewitness testimony and you are distracting the Inspector."

"Mmm, wanted more kissing. You don't do enough kissing." John was mumbling.

Lestrade could feel his brain melting as John's kisses and hands were all over his upper body while Sherlock steadily teased his erection. He was not going to last long at all.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh please, I need to know how tall the suspect was! Tell me that, not about his bloody clothing. Honestly, your minds only contain a few facts, how hard is it to give me the few that matter?"

Lestrade pulled himself together through the haze of lust and excitement. He was kissing John. John's animated face translated into a lovely responsive kisser. He could have come just from this if Sherlock would just shut up. He had always known that Sherlock was an annoying and excessive talker, but this was too much. Conducting witness interviews during sex with two people?

"I… uh, just like that… I think she said six foot tall."

Lestrade and John both groaned in disappointment as Sherlock leapt up off the floor and started rummaging excitedly through the file on the table.

"That's it! Of course, I should have realized! He needed to be tall enough to see in the window!" Sherlock found the crime scene photo he was looking for and held it up triumphantly. "Lestrade, go arrest the victim's boyfriend!"

"What, now?" Lestrade was pretty sure he couldn't get up off the floor with John sprawled all over him, not to mention that he did not feel in any way inclined to change the situation. John mumbled a protest and continued kissing his way across Lestrade's chest.

"Of course now!" Sherlock retorted. "I've solved the case, and if we don't grab him right away he could leave the country!"

Lestrade sighed. "Not now Sherlock, I'm off duty. I'll send a message to Dimmock." _And besides_ , he added to himself, _I'm about to get off with John. Shame to waste all that preparation._

Sherlock snorted, "I suppose that will do. I've done all the work and I suppose Dimmock can be trusted to carry out a simple arrest." He flounced out of the room, then returned to stick his head around the door-frame. "By the way, John doesn't know it but he loves being the bottom. Inspector Lestrade, you should top." Then he winked and disappeared again.

John still had his eyes closed and was gently tonguing Greg's right nipple. "You heard the man," he whispered. "Come here."

"Oh God, yes." Greg rolled John over onto his back with himself on top. He removed the dildo which Sherlock had abandoned and snorted at the size of it. "What was he thinking? Who wants a twelve centimetre dildo, for God's sake?"

John giggled. "I know, but I didn't want to break it to him. Now come here and fill me properly."

Greg sat back on his heels and pulled John forward into his lap. John obligingly wrapped his legs around Greg's waist and pulled their bodies closer together. Greg reached down and adjusted himself, then slid John another few centimetres forward and onto his erection. They both sighed with satisfaction as Greg's full length was sheathed in John's body.

"Oh yes, just like that," John groaned. "Don't tease me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Greg returned, wrapping his hand around John's cock and pumping it slowly in time with the movement of his hips. John gasped and jerked himself upright in Greg's lap. Greg groaned as the shift in position drove him deeper into John's heated body.

"Now," John grunted, "Fuck me hard, now… oh, please…"

Greg let himself go and snapped his hips forward, thrusting into John, taking him as deeply as he could. It only took four long delicious strokes before John was clawing his back and panting in his ear and covering them both with his ejaculate. The contractions of his internal muscles sent Greg in turn into an irresistible climax as he gasped and clutched John to himself.

The two of them sank down onto the rug in front of the fire, spent and sticky. Them Sherlock stuck his head back around the door frame. "I heard that you know."

"You started it." John snapped without opening his eyes. "Tease. Greg was just finishing it."

Sherlock snorted. "Not that. The ‘twelve centimetres’ comment. I was just going easy on you. Next time you can see what _else_ I've got in my box." Then his curly head disappeared again.

"Do I want to know?" Greg mumbled.

"Probably not." John sighed. "You know the bastard is more excited about solving his case than the fact that you and I were shagging."

Greg shrugged. "I'm not surprised." He looked over at John speculatively. "Feel like another go around? You can top this time if you like."

John grinned. "Sure. Let's lock the door first though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is complete for now, but I have an idea for one more chapter for it which I plan to write when my two other WIPs are done. Don't hold your breath.


End file.
